


Always On My Mind

by dragontattoo75



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awesome Best Friends, Broken Heart, Intervention, Kissing, M/M, Male Slash, Morning After, Oblivious Stiles, Pack Night, Persistent Derek, Porn Watching, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Vulnerability, dominant derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragontattoo75/pseuds/dragontattoo75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles didn’t want to go to a stupid pack night with his friends. It sounded much more tempting to sit home alone on a Friday night, eating Doritos and watching old reruns on TV until he fell asleep. Too bad Scott chose this particular evening to wake up from his happy, pink Allison-bubble and stage an intervention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always On My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you karenec for pre-reading and Sue273 for betaing. Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
> Much love to my awesome friend and writing companion [Brego_Mellon_Nin.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brego_Mellon_Nin/)

* * *

 

Stiles didn’t want to go to a stupid pack night with his friends at Jackson’s. Sitting at home alone on a Friday night, eating Doritos and watching old reruns on TV until he fell asleep was much more tempting.

It wasn’t like he felt sorry for himself—no, he was just completely spent after long days with homework, lacrosse practice, and monster hunting.

That was all.

Too bad Scott chose this particular evening to wake up from his happy, pink Allison-bubble and stage an intervention.

“Enough is enough,” Scott said as he pulled a limp Stiles up from his bed.

The beer Allison handed Stiles almost fell out of his hand before he got a hard enough grip on it to lift it to his mouth, missing by an inch, and making beer drip down his chin and onto his dirty hoodie.

Miraculously, some of it got in his mouth anyway, and he burped to question, “Enough of what?”

It wasn’t a very successful intervention if he didn’t have a clue what they were supposed to be intervening about in the first place.

Allison petted his hair, her big brown eyes looking softly at him. “Your broken heart, Stiles,” she told him mildly.

Stiles flailed hard and Allison grabbed his bottle just in time, thanks to her hard-earned monster fighting reflexes.

“Look, Stiles,” she began soothingly as she sat down beside him, discreetly keeping him up by letting him lean against her. Stiles was grateful.  
Scott bent down in front of them. “We know you’re in love with Derek. You don’t have to pretend to us, your best friends. Allison and I can’t stand watching you like this.”

“So, we’re taking control for you,” Allison added firmly.

Stiles stared at them, trying to figure out when he was supposed to have fallen in love with Derek. What Allison said made no sense. She placed her finger under his chin, closing his mouth. “Now, drink up, take a shower and we’re going to the pack night.”

She held up her finger when he tried to argue. “No!” she stopped him. “You don’t get to stay here alone tonight. Enough is enough, remember?” She got up to unlock the window and open it, waving her hand in front of her face. “It stinks in here!”

Stiles looked over at Scott, hoping his best friend would make more sense. “Broken heart, dude? Me in love with Derek?” He tried to sound hilarious, but heard his voice was high and close to panicking.

Scott looked up with his puppy eyes, like he would rather live in the same denial which he seemed to think Stiles did. “Sorry, man. You should do as Allison says.”

“You’re whipped, man! Whipped!” Stiles groaned, but stood and stomped to the door, grabbing a set of clean underwear and socks from his dresser on the way.

Scott smiled apologetically when Stiles turned to try one last time, but Allison waved him off. “You’ll thank us later,” she said dismissively.

Feeling the hot water run down his face, Stiles could admit he needed a shower, but that was the only thing he was ready to admit. He didn’t love Derek, he used him for sex. Every night. For months. But love him, no.

Definitely not.

One night, he just happened to decide—completely out of the blue—that he wanted his window locked at night. There was nothing more to it.

He’d stopped having sex, yes, but he still did the necessities; homework, lacrosse practice, and he even helped the pack slay monsters—a completely normal day-to-day life for a teenager.

And now they were forcing him to attend a pack night at Jackson’s.

Where there would be alcohol for the humans, undoubtedly porn on the TV, and Derek.

Stiles moaned in frustration as he turned off the water. It wasn’t fair of his best friends to torture him by making him face his ex-fuckbuddy.

As he was drying himself, he saw they had put clean clothes for him on the sink. He dressed, did not admit that it felt good to wear soft clothes smelling of fabric softener again, did not fix his hair in front of the mirror for five minutes (it was difficult to get it to stay up at the front), but did brush his teeth. Just because he liked the taste of his toothpaste.

Scott knocked, handing Stiles another beer from the door opening. “Hey, you all right, man?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answered, drinking half the bottle before drying his mouth with the back of his hand, shuddering at the weird mix of mint and beer. “Peachy!”

Scott looked relieved. “Great! Then I don’t have to carry you to the car.”

Stiles was halfway down the stairs before Scott was in front of him again, shielding the handle on the front door from Stiles' grabby hands.

“Really, Stiles? You thought we were that stupid?” Allison asked, strolling leisurely down the stairs, her hand gliding on the wooden railing.

Before he knew it, he was trapped. Scott thrust his jacket to his chest, Allison sneaked her arm around his waist, and he was led to her car, where he was pushed onto the backseat with Scott following close after him.

Realizing there was no escape, Stiles huffed, but drank his beer as he stared out at the dark, blurred forest, trying to man up to face his life.

.

Ever since Derek strode toward Stiles in the forest a long time ago, Stiles had been attracted to the werewolf.

And Derek knew it.

He caught Stiles’ gaze straight on, nostrils flaring as he followed his nose towards Stiles, like he was starving and dinner fumes were drifting from the kitchen.

Stiles sometimes wondered if there existed a man able to resist a willing body lying in a soft bed when all you had to go home to after a tiring day of fighting monsters, was a cold and lonely floor in an abandoned train station.

In Stiles’ world, there was no such man.

It turned out that Derek’s appetite matched the powerful werewolf he was. He looked at Stiles like he was a plucked turkey lying on the dinner table, ready to be consumed.

And consumed he was.

Overnight, Stiles went from being a curious virgin to a sexually active boy, with Derek showing up at his window almost every night. Stiles’ obvious innocence seemed to spur Derek on in some weird werewolf way that Stiles didn’t understand. Derek attacked Stiles as soon he came inside, pressing him against the mattress and having his way with him until they collapsed sweating in each other's arms.

In the mornings when Stiles woke up, purring as he stretched languidly and often with bruises in new places, Derek was always gone. Stiles turned over to the side where Derek had laid when he fell asleep, and it was still warm and smelling of his lover.

.

Arriving at Jackson’s, Stiles walked through the front door without being carried, so Scott and Allison let him be after handing him yet another beer. It was a relief not to have their eyes constantly on him. The house was much quieter than he expected when he wandered in, but the sounds of wet slapping, grunting, and dirty talk attracted him to the living room.

Jackson had an extensive porn collection and the pack nights at his house always ended up with a few of them watching some. Tonight, a man was pistoning his hips into a woman who was laying over a table, her perky breasts jumping and her red mouth moaning around another man’s cock with every thrust.

Stiles slumped down in a vacant chair, uncharacteristically mumbling a greeting to the room in general before he started picking at the label of his bottle as he cast a glance around the room. Erica was squeezed in between Isaac and Boyd on the sofa and all three of them were watching the video closely with slack mouths. Erica had her hands in each of the guys' laps and Stiles did not want to think about what was going on in their heads at the moment. Right now, he was just happy he didn’t have the elevated sense of smell that the werewolves had.

It was impossible to keep arousal or sex-smell a secret in the pack. Yet, no one had ever shown they were aware of Derek’s nightly visits to Stiles’ bedroom.

Stiles felt himself relax a little when Derek was nowhere to be seen. Thinking about it, he was almost sure there actually had been one night Derek hadn’t shown up. It wasn’t like Stiles cared about where Derek was; he’d never admit paying attention to him like that. It was just nice having a pack night where the boss didn’t breathe down his neck.

At his side, Lydia was sitting in Jackson’s lap, playing with his hair. Stiles tipped his head back, drinking his beer, and as he placed the bottle on the table, he noticed Lydia grinning at him.

Huh, perhaps he was getting drunk already, because he was sure he’d never seen her smiling at him like that before. Then he felt a shadow by the door and he flailed, kicking his leg against the table when he noticed Derek leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his massive chest and a scowl aimed at Stiles.

Startled, Stiles jumped up and did absolutely not meep as he walked, not ran, to the kitchen. Derek followed after him. Stiles grabbed another beer from the fridge, pressing himself against it when Derek came towards him, placing a hand on the fridge beside Stiles’ head.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” Derek reprimanded, clenching his jaw and nodding to the bottle Stiles was clinging to.

“No?” Stiles hiccuped. Derek raised an eyebrow as his eyes flicked to Stiles' lips. Stiles looked everywhere else than at the werewolf’s face, his heart thundering in his chest. Where the hell were Scott and Allison with their damn intervention when he actually could use it?

He bent down and snuck under Derek’s arm. Heading for the stairs, he sprinted up two steps at the time. He could feel he was being followed, but he needed to escape. He couldn’t take it.

His heart couldn’t.

Stiles fell to the floor, stumbling over ... he held up Scott’s shoe just as he yanked ... Allison’s sweater from under his back, and Derek came looming over him.

“That’s right. Your friends are busy in there,” Derek jerked his head to the door beside them and it dawned on Stiles that he was alone in handling Derek. And when he took stock, he realized was a little drunk. This would not end well.

Derek stepped up over Stiles, stopping with one boot beside each of his thighs. “Why did you lock your window?” All right, straight to the point.

Stiles swallowed hard, his voice trembling in a manly way when he answered, “Because I felt like it?”

Derek scowled harder down at him. “What changed? I smell your want, even now when you’re frightened.”

Indignant, Stiles tried to defend himself. “I’m not scared of you!” Derek bent down, eyes burning and his face inches from Stiles’. “Well, maybe a little.” He didn’t admit to what he was afraid of.

A moan escaped from behind the door.

“Fuck,” Stiles groaned, throwing his arm over his face. “I’m not staying here on the floor listening to them going at it.”

Derek yanked him up by his arms. “We’ll find our own room.” Pulling Stiles after him into a bedroom, pressing him against the door until it was locked. Derek’s mouth was on his neck at once, breathing in deeply as he growled. “I haven’t had you for ten days. I won’t wait any longer.”

Stiles’ heart ached in his chest as he felt his legs go weak. He wanted Derek—the werewolf was right about that—and he couldn’t find the strength to stop it. Resolution be damned, he needed this. One last fuck and he’d say stop. Tomorrow.

Derek stiffened as he felt Stiles stop resisting and Stiles whimpered when Derek bit down on his neck, marking him yet again before licking the bruise and humming in contentment at Stiles’ submission.

Derek retreated, his eyes locking with Stiles’, and Stiles felt his chest heaving.

Staring at the Alpha, Stiles knew he was in deep shit.

Allison and even his dense best friend, Scott, knew he was in love with Derek before even Stiles knew it himself. How could he have been so stupid!

Derek leaned in closer, staring at Stiles' mouth and Stiles felt his heart thundering. It must be so easy for the werewolf to realize how much Stiles wanted him, that when he was this close, Stiles was unable to resist.

“Derek—”

His mouth was covered by Derek’s lips, hot on his, demanding. Grabbing hands on his chest pulled him against Derek’s, and then threw him to the mattress. Derek crawled up between Stiles’ legs, staring down at him through hooded eyes.

“Why did you deny me? I know you want it.” Derek stroked his fingers over the hard bulge in Stiles' jeans.

“Fuck,” Stiles groaned desperately. “Yeah, I want you,” he admitted and he was rewarded by one of Derek’s rare full on, white-toothed smiles. He looked almost relieved for some reason.

“Yes!” Stiles thought he heard, his pulse thundering in his ears at having Derek here, wanting him, needing him. It was intoxicating and he watched as Derek slowly opened the button of his jeans and pulled the zipper down, the sound of it ringing in the room.

“I can’t wait to have you again,” Derek told him, eyes burning with want.

“Have you missed me?” Stiles asked breathlessly, pulling at the hem of Derek’s t-shirt.

“Yes!”

.

Stiles woke up with a sour mouth and feeling something dry itching on the skin between his legs as he turned. He rubbed his eyes, clearing his blurred vision to look around the room, and saw that he was still at Jackson’s.

He groaned low, burying his face in the pillow to keep any werewolves in the house from hearing, only to jerk his face back, throwing the pillow away. It reeked of sweat and come.

He’d had sex with Derek again. At a pack night. And he woke up alone.

He’d swore to himself this wouldn’t happen again, that he’d tell Derek no the next time he approached him, but it had been impossible to resist. And now he was back to this. To feeling the hard pressure, the ache in his chest, a feeling he couldn’t ease himself.

Stiles sat up, looking around for his underwear. He looked all over the floor before he searched the bed without finding them. Eventually, he got dressed without his boxers. He just wanted to get home and have a long shower before he went to sleep again, preferably not waking up until Monday morning.

Walking downstairs, he entered the kitchen, found a glass in the cabinet and filled it with water. As he drank, Boyd came into the kitchen. His nostrils flared, smelling what Stiles was sure was his own and Derek’s come, but the man didn’t say a word. He just gave Stiles a quick jerk with his head before he opened the fridge and took out some eggs.

“You staying for breakfast?” he asked and Stiles shook his head.

“No,” he croaked before he coughed, and added, “I need to get home to take a shower.”

“The shower is free now,” a voice said coming from the door, and Stiles jerked his head to see Derek drying his wet hair with a towel, glancing cautiously up at Stiles.

Stiles felt stiff as a stick. He pressed the palm of his hands to his eyes for a second when he heard Boyd high-fiving Derek, mumbling for even Stiles' human ears to hear, “Nice, bro.”

Stiles set the glass down hard in the sink.

Boyd turned the frying eggs with a spatula. Derek came over to Stiles, placing his large hands on Stiles' shoulders, kneading his muscles. Stiles felt it all over his body; the merest touch from Derek, hell, the mere feel of Derek’s eyes on him, sent sparks all over. A small moan escaped his mouth before he clamped his lips together and jerked himself out of Derek’s grip.

“Stiles! Wait!” Derek yelled after him as Stiles strode to the door, slamming it shut and marched down the street.

“Fuck!” he muttered to himself, hitting his thighs with his fists, trying to focus on the pain in his thighs instead of in his chest as he walked fast down the street. He needed to keep it together until he was in his room. If he was lucky, the Sheriff was not up yet.

Why did he do this to himself, time after time? He’d become Derek’s regular go-to guy when the werewolf was horny; it was not like Stiles had ever said no to him. He didn’t want to. He’d become Derek’s booty call, his fuckbuddy.

He felt tears burn in his eyes, and he angrily used the sleeve of his hoodie to dry them. Fuck if he was going to cry over that guy. The asshole.

Tires screeched beside him on the road and Stiles jumped to the hedge. Derek rolled down the window of his Camaro.

“Stiles! Hold up!” Derek leaned over to the window, while driving slowly beside Stiles who was almost running at this point, refusing to look at him.

“Fuck, Stiles! Will you stop running?”

Derek stopped the car and came after him. Stiles was running now, and he had a lot of practice running from the previous monsters that had been hunting him. He was good at this.

Derek pulled at Stiles' hood, and he was yanked backwards into Derek, who turned him, breathing over Stiles’ face. “What’s the matter with you? I thought we could go get breakfast! Just the two of us.”

“What?” Stiles asked angrily, his hands fisting, knowing he’d get nowhere with hitting the werewolf.

“What what?” Derek asks confused. “What do you want from me, Stiles?”

Stiles swallowed. “I don’t think we can do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Derek looked at him confused.

“Hell, Derek! It’s not like I want to bear your puppies or anything!”

Stunned, Derek looked at him in shock and Stiles felt his cheeks warm.

Derek let Stiles go, gripping at his own hair instead. “What if ... what if I wanted this breakfast to be a date?” Derek asked carefully, looking like he was afraid. “Stiles. You are always on my mind. I don’t think I can let you go.”

The pressure in Stiles' chest loosened, and he stared into Derek’s eyes, searching them for intent. “I’m always on your mind?” He breathed as Derek stepped close, so Stiles couldn’t focus on his eyes anymore.

“Yes!” Derek leaned in the last inch, rubbing his nose against Stiles’, humming, “Mh hm, there you go. You don’t smell of anger anymore, just happiness. The way I like you.”

Then he brushed his lips against Stiles’, and Stiles felt his heart beat in anticipation and wonder. “Derek, I ...” he gasped, burying his face in Derek’s shoulder. “I want you to be happy, too.”

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://darkhairedguys.tumblr.com/) and [Pinterest](https://no.pinterest.com/dragontattoo75/).


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